The Dressmaker’s Secret

by Charlotte Betts

  Dottore Fiorelli escorted me into town to talk to Capitano Bischi. Dark-eyed and dapper, the police chief bade me sit down and I told him my story, omitting Ma’s confession. Capitano Bischi shrugged his narrow shoulders and said that her attacker must have been an opportunist thief. Signora Barton’s subsequent death had been most regrettable but appeared to be without motive other than theft. He assured me every effort would be made to find the thief but held out little hope of apprehending him. Dottore Fiorelli and I returned to the house in silence.

  I owned no mourning clothes but Signora Fiorelli opened the cedarwood chest in her bedroom and took out a crepe mourning gown. ‘It was my mother’s she said. ‘The style is outdated but you may have it if you care to alter it. Sewing will keep you occupied at this difficult time.’

  There was a great deal of material in the full skirts and, with careful cutting, I was able to make two dresses and a spencer. It was ironic that I’d only recently finished Widow Mancuso’s mourning dress without the slightest inkling that I should be making a mourning wardrobe for myself a few days later.

  Ma’s body was brought to the Fiorellis’ house on the night before the funeral and her coffin laid on trestles in the salone. Unable to sleep, I dressed and crept downstairs in the small hours. I peeped into the open coffin, half afraid of what I would see but, despite her bruised cheek, Ma’s waxen face was serene with all worry lines erased away. She, at least, was at peace.

  I kept vigil beside her body for the rest of the night. I was still angry with her for stealing me away but also nagged by guilt. If I’d taken her fears seriously we’d have moved on and she’d still be alive. Everything about my life had changed and I felt as if I stood on the edge of an abyss, not knowing what terrors awaited me below.

  It was still dark when Signora Fiorelli came downstairs. ‘I wondered if you might be here, all alone,’ she whispered. Leaning over Ma’s body, she sighed. ‘Too young to die,’ she said. She took my hand and I was grateful for her warm touch. We sat quietly together until dawn broke.

  Alfio trotted downstairs and Signora Fiorelli firmly led me out of the salone and made me sit with the little boy at the kitchen table. I sipped hot coffee and crumbled a piece of bread while I responded to Alfio’s childish chatter. One by one the rest of the family joined us.

  Alessandro, looking unusually sombre, sat beside me and watched me from under his dark eyelashes. ‘You’re very brave,’ he said. ‘But you mustn’t be embarrassed to cry. You are amongst friends here.’

  At once my eyes began to prickle and I looked down at my folded hands. Ashamed that my feelings towards Ma were so confused, my throat closed up.

  Alessandro passed me his handkerchief and patted my arm with great tenderness.

  ‘It is time,’ said his father.

  Signora Fiorelli led me into the parlour again and gently pushed me towards the coffin. ‘You must kiss your mother, Signorina.’

  I looked down at Ma’s face. She was the only mother I remembered and I was sorry that her life had been so troubled because of me. Leaning over, I touched my lips to her cold forehead for the last time.

  Since Ma’s coffin was small, Alessandro, his father, Salvatore and Jacopo were all the pallbearers needed.

  As they carried the coffin into the church there was a clatter of hooves and I glanced up to see the barouche come to a smart stop outside. The Princess, accompanied by Countess Oldi, descended and hurried after us.

  After the burial we returned to the Fiorellis’ house for wine, biscotti and panforte. Cosima and Salvatore were charged with offering the refreshments to the party and Signora Fiorelli whispered to me that it was fortunate she’d set out the best glasses since she hadn’t expected to entertain royalty.

  The Princess, however, stood on no ceremony and hugged me to her ample bosom. ‘My dear little friend,’ she said, ‘I grieve for you in your loss.’ She sighed heavily. ‘We are companions in our sorrow.’

  ‘I’m honoured that you came today,’ I said.

  ‘I couldn’t bear to think you might be alone,’ said the Princess, ‘but I see your friends are caring for you.’

  ‘The Fiorelli family have been so kind,’ I said, imagining how unbearable it would have been if I’d had to arrange everything on my own.

  Signora Fiorelli enfolded me in a lavender-scented embrace. ‘But now we must decide what you will do next.’

  ‘I’ve presumed upon your hospitality too long,’ I said. ‘I’ll return to the cottage this afternoon.’

  A chorus of protests broke out from her children and only died down once Signora Fiorelli had flapped her hands at them as if they were squawking chickens.

  ‘Whatever would people think?’ she said, her expression shocked. ‘A young, unmarried lady living alone?’

  ‘Your honour must be protected,’ said Alessandro in a firm voice.

  I knew they were right. There had been security, or so I’d thought, in two women living together, but my reputation would be at risk if I lived alone. In any case, I doubted I could earn enough by myself to be able to afford the cottage.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll find a room to rent,’ I said.

  Countess Oldi brushed biscotti crumbs from her lips. ‘Not at all suitable,’ she said.

  ‘I doubt you would find one,’ said Dottore Fiorelli, shaking his head. ‘Not many people would care to be responsible for a young lady on her own.’

  ‘What he means, Signorina Barton,’ said Signora Fiorelli, ‘is that you are far too pretty for any woman to risk her husband’s attention straying if you lived in her household.’

  Anxiety fluttered in my breast. Where could I go? Then I had an idea and decided to speak before my courage failed me.

  ‘Ma’am,’ I said to the Princess, trying to keep my voice even, ‘if you were to find me a place in your household I could undertake any household sewing tasks or alterations to your wardrobe. I speak Italian, French and English fluently and write a clear hand in all three. Perhaps I might be entrusted with your correspondence?’ I gripped my hands together while a pulse fluttered in my neck.

  The Princess thought for a moment. ‘Since I have dismissed my maid, my wardrobe undeniably needs attention. Most of my household are living off the premises, at least until the building works are completed, but there’s a little room on the ground floor, if that will suffice?’

  I let out my breath in a sigh of relief. ‘Indeed it will!’

  Later that afternoon I was grateful for the company of Cosima and Signor Fiorelli when I returned to the cottage. I’d dreaded facing the memories of Ma’s death on my own.

  Alessandro unlocked the door and we followed him inside.

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Cosima.

  It was immediately apparent that the intruder had returned. Again, the parlour furniture was overturned and even the rug had been rolled up to expose the floorboards.

  ‘Go outside,’ ordered Alessandro. ‘Hurry now! I shall make sure there’s nobody here.’

  Wordlessly, Cosima slipped her hand into mine. Her brown eyes were full of pity for me. I allowed her to draw me outside.

  The harbour wall was so cold when we sat upon it that it seemed to drain all the warmth out of my body. I shivered and rose to my feet in a panic. What if the intruder were still inside and had harmed Signor Fiorelli? But at that moment he beckoned us back into the house.

  ‘What can he have been looking for to risk coming back?’ I said. ‘We had nothing of value.’

  ‘Shall I help you to tidy up?’ asked Cosima.

  I left Signor Fiorelli righting the overturned furniture and Cosima picking up the contents of the sewing boxes while I went upstairs. The mattresses had been sliced open and our clothes tipped out of the chest. My heart sank. I would have to replace the landlady’s mattresses, further depleting my purse. One by one I lifted up the scattered clothes and placed them neatly in my travelling bag.

  Ma’s quilted winter petticoat swung against my ankles as I picked it up and I was surprised by
how heavy it was. It was then that I made my discovery. All around the hem, on the inside, was a double row of little cambric pockets. Each one contained a gold coin.

  I sank down on the edge of the slashed mattress, my legs suddenly weak. I remembered then that, on her deathbed, Ma had said, ‘I didn’t tell him about them.’ Perhaps these coins were what the thief had been searching for? I had no idea how Ma could have come by such riches. We’d often gone so short it was hard to believe she’d saved anything much from our meagre earnings.

  Agitated, I paced across to the window. However she’d acquired the coins, I needed them now and they’d be a godsend.

  Without hesitating I pulled on the petticoat under my skirt and tied the tapes firmly around my waist.

  Chapter 7

  Victorine was sitting on the front steps watching the builders when Signor Fiorelli and I arrived at Villa Vittoria. I caught my breath as the guard dogs came bounding up to investigate.

  ‘Down, Titus!’ commanded Signor Fiorelli. ‘Down, Bruna! Don’t worry, Signorina Barton, they’re more bark than bite.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m pleased you’re here to control them,’ I said, gripping my bag tightly.

  ‘They’ll soon get to know you.’ His eyes were full of sympathy for me. ‘After all that has happened, coming here must feel very strange. Remember, I am your friend and you may call on me whenever you wish.’

  I forced a smile. ‘I am a little nervous.’

  ‘Don’t be. And come and have dinner with my family again.’ He smiled, his teeth white against his olive skin. ‘If you can stand the noise and the squabbling.’

  Two members of the Papal Guard were standing by the front door, as usual.

  ‘You are coming to live with me, Signorina Barton?’ Victorine hopped from foot to foot.

  ‘For a while,’ I said.

  ‘Will you play with me?’

  I ruffled her dark curls. ‘I shall be working for the Princess but when she doesn’t need me, then I’ll play with you.’

  Signor Fiorelli lifted my bags down from the barouche. ‘We’ll go round to the servants’ door,’ he said.

  Victorine skipped along ahead of us, jumping over heaps of sand and stacked timber boarding.

  ‘I’ve no experience of the correct etiquette in a royal household,’ I admitted.

  ‘Don’t be concerned. The Princess is moderate in her demands. She asks only that you are loyal and efficient in your duties.’

  ‘How could I not be loyal to her?’ I said. ‘I don’t know what I should have done if she hadn’t offered me a place.’

  ‘Mamma would never have turned you out into the streets,’ he assured me.

  ‘I don’t intend to be a burden to anyone,’ I said.

  At the side of the house we paused to look at the stable yard with its rows of horseboxes. The yard echoed to the clang of the farrier’s hammer and the acrid scent of burning hooves hung in the air. Lads were busy grooming the horses and mucking out the boxes. Victorine climbed up on the gate and waved at one of the grooms.

  ‘There are forty-eight horses,’ said Signor Fiorelli, ‘from the smallest piebald ponies to the finest Arabian stallions. And several carriages are housed here for the Princess’s use.’

  I gazed at him in surprise. ‘But this is hardly a palace.’

  He laughed. ‘No, not yet. The Princess hasn’t lived here very long, remember. Before she bought Villa Vittoria she rented the Villa Caprile nearby. That was much grander. Although the Princess and her architect have plans to enlarge Villa Vittoria, she likes to call it her country cottage.’

  ‘So the household is smaller than it was before?’

  ‘Mostly it’s the Pergami family who live here,’ he said, ‘together with Willy Austin, Victorine’s nursemaid, two equerries and a few servants. There’ll be more space for live-in servants once the building works are finished.’

  ‘And the Baron’s family live here also?’

  Signor Fiorelli nodded. ‘The Baron oversees everything. He hires the staff, which includes his mother, his cousins, brothers and sisters, and controls the household accounts.’

  ‘Victorine’s mother doesn’t live here then?’

  ‘No,’ said Signor Fiorelli. He inclined his head towards me. ‘And a word of advice, if I may? You would do well to remember the Baron has almost complete authority over everything at Villa Vittoria.’

  Behind the house I glimpsed another avenue of cypresses and a half-completed Italian garden. Soldiers of the Papal Guard patrolled the grounds and two more stood by the back door.

  ‘Are the soldiers always here?’ I asked.

  ‘Night and day. Fourteen of them. The Princess is anxious that her husband’s spies might infiltrate the villa and poison her,’ he added in an undertone. ‘The Pope allows her the guard to ensure her safety.’

  I glanced at Victorine, who was watching us with bright eyes, and resolved to find out more another time. She grasped hold of her tutor’s hand and led the way indoors, past the kitchens.

  ‘I’ll take you to Mother Pergami,’ he murmured.

  I followed him into the servants’ dining room. The old lady in black I’d seen when I first visited Villa Vittoria sat at the long table with a younger woman, counting piles of sheets.

  ‘I bring you Signorina Barton,’ said Signor Fiorelli.

  Signora Pergami’s face was deeply wrinkled, like an apple that has sat on a windowsill for too long. Her almost toothless jaw moved from side to side as she looked me up and down. Finally, she nodded in greeting and I dropped a small curtsey.

  ‘Faustina,’ she said to the younger woman, ‘take her to her room. And then the Baron will see her.’

  ‘I must say goodbye for now, Signorina Barton,’ said Signor Fiorelli. ‘It’s time for your lessons, Victorine.’ He held out his hand to the little girl.

  Loneliness gripped me for a moment until I saw him glance back at me through the doorway with a grin on his handsome face.

  Faustina, who would have been pretty if her features weren’t quite so coarse, pushed herself to her feet and picked up my bags.

  I followed her along the passage, watching her hips roll from side to side as she sauntered along as if she had all the time in the world. A few locks of black hair had slipped from her hairpins and lay in greasy tresses on her shoulders. She opened a door and dropped my bags on the tiled floor inside. When she unlatched the shutters, light poured in to illuminate a bed covered in a striped cotton coverlet. There was a rag rug on the floor and a washstand with a rough white towel folded on the top. There was no fire in the empty grate.

  ‘There’s hooks behind the door for your clothes,’ she said. ‘A maid’ll bring you water in the morning and the privy’s out the back beside the stables.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. The room was whitewashed, with dark timber beams above and terracotta tiles on the floor, simple but adequate.

  She gave me the glimmer of a smile. ‘Unpack later. My brother’s waiting for you now.’

  I realised with some surprise that Faustina must be one of the Baron’s siblings and therefore Countess Oldi’s sister too. Her position at Villa Vittoria was far less elevated than that of the Princess’s lady-in-waiting.

  We returned along the passage and Faustina knocked on another door. A male voice bade us enter.

  The Baron sat at his desk, pen poised to write in the ledger before him. ‘Ah, yes, Signorina Barton. You may go, Faustina.’

  The Baron beckoned me forward.

  A fire crackled in the hearth and the room was very warm. I was close enough to smell his hair oil.

  He didn’t ask me to sit down. ‘The Princess has instructed me to arrange the details of your employment as her sewing woman and, when required, secretary,’ he said. ‘You shall have your board and lodging and an appropriate salary will be paid half-yearly. You may have an afternoon off each fortnight to visit your mother’s grave.’

  ‘Thank you, Baron.’ I wasn’t brave enough to ask what an
appropriate salary might be. In any case, I was in no position to haggle.

  He stood up and I was reminded again of how his physical presence dominated a room.

  ‘Your discretion must be absolute,’ he said. ‘You will not discuss anything you see or hear in the Villa Vittoria with any person outside these walls. Do I make myself clear?’ His gaze bored into me.

  ‘Absolutely, Baron.’

  ‘There are those who may wish the Princess ill and it is the duty of every member of this household to protect her. Should you discover any unknown person entering the grounds or the villa, you will inform either myself or one of the guards immediately. Furthermore, the corridors are patrolled all night. You will not leave your room after retiring until the following morning.’ He fixed me with an unsmiling gaze that made me faintly uneasy.